Page 122 of Heart Cradle
“Next time,” Laren called, “try ducking.”
Maeve moved faster, searching. A skeld near the gate wasn’t like the rest, taller and more stable. Its hands sent dark tendrils through the air and the others responded.
Their commander.
Maeve drove her blade forwards, but it wasn’t her sword that broke it. It was the Chain. A pulse of blinding gold erupted from her wrist, striking the skeld’s face like divine fire, it shrieked as it staggered. Shattering, and all around them, the lesser ones faltered. Most dropped instantly while some scattered.
Eiran found her fast. “What was that?”
Maeve’s chest heaved. “It was leading them, the Chain showed me.”
Then, another pulse, more insistent, almost painful.
“Strike the stone beneath the flame. Now!”
She looked and at the centre of the square, a half-buried rune stone glowed faintly and smoke poured from it. Maeve didn’t question, she ran and lifted her blade, bringing it down. The sound was like a bell tolling through bone and with it, a column of light burst from the rune. It surged upward, then outward through Maeve, through the Chain, through the world and everything stopped. The entirety of the skeld fell and silence rolled in like a tide. Maeve stood alone, sword lowered, the glow dimming slowly around her and the Chain went quiet.
Chapter Fifty-Six – What Remains
Smoke still curled from the southern gate after the battle ended, rising like a slow exhale into the bruised afternoon sky. Maeve stood in the fractured plaza, helping to clear rubble and lift the wounded. Her leathers were scorched at the collar, her skin marked with soot and dried blood. The Chain still pulsed faintly around her wrist, no longer burning but warm and constant, like a heartbeat she hadn’t realised was hers.
Jeipier crouched nearby, his chest rising and falling as he blew small, controlled gusts of fire over the skeld remains. The dragons had taken to burning them quickly, as Yendel had advised and the thunder moved with grim coordination, dragging bodies into organised piles, guarding the perimeter, their eyes sharp in every direction. The unpaired dragons followed Xelaini’s lead, and it was clear they needed no spoken commands. When Xelaini tilted her head, the rest adjusted, when she growled, they stilled.
Maeve helped a healer lift a young soldier into a sling, he had been crushed by a falling column.
“He’s stable,” the healer muttered, sweat gleaming on his brow. “But we need more hands by the eastern tents.”
Eiran joined them, tossing a waterskin to Maeve. “No civilian casualties,” he said softly. “Father’s orders held. There was panic, but no crushes, no trampled. Just shock.”
Maeve exhaled. “Thank fuck, that’s something.”
“You did more than something, love.” He touched her shoulder. ”You stopped it.”
She didn’t answer, she just looked towards the high temple, now standing silent high above the city, petals still scattered on the steps, half-wilted and windblown.
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By evening, the wounded were tended, the fires extinguished, and the corrupted bodies burned to ash, the scent of fire lingered like cloying incense.
Inside Elanthir Keep, the royal circle and the heads of the allied realms gathered in the great hall. The long table was laid for council rather than feast, no wine or music, just cups, low faelight, and serious faces.
Maeve sat beside Eiran, her hand wrapped in his beneath the table. Orilan stood at the head, his long silver hair loose. Across from him sat Hayvalaine, her posture sharp despite the exhaustion in her eyes. Elenwe of Velthamar leaned back in her chair, silent and calculating, while the Veralis of Eldrisil, Hayvalaine’s father, sat narrow-eyed and tapping a finger slowly against his cup.
Taelin stood beside the map table, pointing to updated glyphs projected in the air above it. “The breach was targeted. The skeld were guided, they weren’t feral. They had formation and intent this time. They collapsed several buildings to cause injuries before attempting to multiply.”
“They had a commander,” Maeve said. “It wasn’t a fae, not anymore, but it was leading them. It could have been a hybrid. It seemed more present than the others.”
Orilan turned to her. “And you destroyed it?”
She nodded once. “The Chain told me where it was, and when to strike. It… ended all of them when I hit the rune.”
There was a weighted silence, before Yendel stepped forwards from the shadows near the hearth, his voice calm.
“The Chain has never been worn before,” he said. “It was forged as a memory holder, an anchor for truthful mafic. For generations it was kept in the pouch, inside the vault as a relic.”
He looked at Maeve.
“I believe, that now it has seen battle, shared memory and invoked protection, it’s power will grow. And with that so will yours, Maeve. The more you trust it, the more it will trust you.”
